I would also, for the first time since the commencement of the trip (!), undertake a pilates session. Engaging in the act of mobility was truly nurturing for the soul.
The sponge was exceptionally airy and light, likely the result of cake flour, oil, and gentle mixing for the formation of uniform, fine air bubbles); that said, it was sweeter than preferred, which may be, in part, owed to meringue for structure. Sandwiched between these two sponge layers - each measuring roughly one inch in thickness - was a delicate whipped cream and vibrant pieces of mango. Fresh whipped cream, especially when unstabilized, is susceptible to dissolution (read: melty) and lacks dimension. It retains a greasy mouthfeel without much contribution to complexity and depth.
Carefully arranged atop were more mango slices. These proved extremely soft and sugary, again as if they had been submerged in syrup for far too long.
Though the city had not gone as far as updating intersections with dedicated bike signals, I silently expressed appreciation towards bike lanes separated from live traffic with boulevard/streetscaping/planters. An MUP would run parallel to the bike lane, separated by a grassy boulevard once again and with clear signage to delineate pedestrians from cyclists.
I managed to find a plethora of bike racks outside Superstore and proceeded with my mission as planned.
A seemingly disinterested member of staff lazily drew close to take my order. I expected to be turned away for my order of a single Croissant Taiyaki with Custard, but the man fires up the grill anyway. The act was in utter conflict with the concept of energy efficiency.
No. 3 Road was witnessed to have a paved bike lane separated from live traffic - splendid. Google Maps guided me in the direction of Aberdeen, where I couldn't resist making one last stop before continuing. Parking the bike under the SkyTrain guideway ensured dryness of my seat. In I went for indoor plumbing facilities and coffee filters from Oomomo.
Traversing from Cambie to River Road, my worries only heightened. Staggered horizontal poles had been installed at street-trail junctions, likely to obstruct vehicles from drunkenly taking to the path. I succeeded in swerving about one of them, but failed to weave around the second, especially given the weightiness of the bike. The handlebars hooked about the pole, and I was sent flying into the asphalt.
As kneepads had not been worn for this excursion, my right knee endured direct contact with asphalt, which was only worsened by strategically-placed incisions of distressed denim bottoms. The right elbow, despite being protected behind elbow pads, experienced the greatest degree of bleeding. Amidst the fall, the elbow guard had slid out of place. Protection was lost. Instead, I earned a bloody tag on the inside of the guard.
"Are you sure?" He repeated for good measure. "I'm going to leave then."
Nodding, I thanked him and assured him I could manage. After all, there would be no one that could come to my aid anyway.